


One Foot In Front Of The Other

by sxlcouthgeek



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 15x03 destiel breakup, Angst, Emotionally Hurt Castiel (Supernatural), Homeless Castiel (Supernatural), Homelessness, Human Castiel (Supernatural), Hurt, Hurt Castiel (Supernatural), Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, Unhappy Castiel (Supernatural), Unhappy Ending, author is sad, deancas breakup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:20:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25748041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sxlcouthgeek/pseuds/sxlcouthgeek
Summary: He was a failure, he knew it. Over the years, the only thing he'd managed to do was fuck things up for the Winchesters, ruined all their efforts. No matter what he did, he was never good enough. He never seemed to be able to do anything right. Blaming himself had become second nature to him now. Every inconvenience that occurred, no matter how minor, felt like it was on him. Like it was somehow all his fault.Or, the one in which Castiel is just as depressed as the author is feeling while writing this.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 9
Kudos: 75





	One Foot In Front Of The Other

**Author's Note:**

> Hi and welcome to my very first fanfic which I'm writing cause I'm really sad. Please, please read the tags before proceeding because this story is just really really miserable and may be triggering to some people. There is literally nothing happy about this story. Nothing.  
> That being said, proceed if y'all want to ruin your day :)

_If anything happens to her, if she is… Then you're dead to me._

He was a failure, he knew it. Over the years, the only thing he'd managed to do was fuck things up for the Winchesters, ruined all their efforts. No matter what he did, he was never good enough. He'd failed at being an angel. He'd failed at being emotionless, failed at following his orders, failed at being a good little soldier. But he never regretted any of those things. What truly broke him was the knowledge that he'd failed Dean. Over and over and over and over again. Sam's soul. Leviathans. Purgatory. The Angel Tablet. Metatron. Charlie. Lucifer. And now Mary. He never seemed to be able to do anything right. Blaming himself had become second nature to him now. Every inconvenience that occurred, no matter how minor, felt like it was on him. Like it was somehow all his fault, even if he knew deep down that it was not. He barely even felt worthy enough to stay in the bunker with the Winchester brothers. He kept everything tightly locked up within himself - his guilt, his anger at himself, his despair, his fears, his insecurities and the most dangerous of all his sentiments: his love for Dean. He bottled it all up, each day a raging battle of trying to keep it all under control and moving on as calmly as he could manage. He never felt the need to open up because he knew that he had no right to, not after all the things that he'd done. And it wasn’t like anyone would care anyway.

Which is why, when those spiteful, scarring words flowed from the elder Winchester's lips, he barely flinched, face as carefully stoic as ever. He'd gotten used to this - hiding his tumultuous emotions under a façade of calmness. He knew he deserved it and tried desperately to push back the wave of misery threatening to overtake him, that made his heart sink and hurt so much that he physically ached, his breathing slightly laboured because of the pain in his chest. He blinked once, then closed his eyes and breathed in deep, rebuking himself for allowing himself even a single moment of weakness and self pity. He did not deserve that kind of indulgence. It was all his fault. He'd failed to tell Dean about Jack on time and it had cost him one of the most important people in his life - his mother.

That night, as he sat under the stars, trench coat spread out on the soft grass, knees drawn to his chest, head thrown back to look up at the cosmos, he felt something that he hadn't felt in a long time. Small. Insignificant. He remembered the last time he'd felt this way. It had been when he was human, barely alive, sleeping at a bus stand with curtains of rain pouring all around him. He'd carried the guilt of causing the angels to fall with him, the guilt of having failed Sam and Dean yet again. Humanity was new to him and while he'd learned something of emotions from the Winchesters and Jimmy Novak, nothing could have prepared him for the way that vulnerability had suddenly hit him, causing him to double over in grief and despair. For some inexplicable reason, he had harboured the illusion that maybe Sam and Dean would find him and help him get his grace back.

 _You're family_ , Dean had said to him. He'd been foolish enough to allow himself to believe that Sam and Dean could ever care for him, could find a place for him in their family even though he was broken and useless. He'd been overjoyed when they had found him at April's, saved him when he couldn't defend himself and brought him to the bunker. _I'm going home_ , he'd thought to himself, warmth settling in his chest for the first time in many days. Of course, he should've known that his crimes were too great to allow that kind of happiness. Weeks later, when he'd found himself trying to sleep in the storeroom of the Gas-N-Sip, thoughts of Dean occupying his head, he had suddenly been overwhelmed by a feeling that he'd been trying to bury since Dean had kicked him out of the bunker - the feeling of never being wanted. Sure, the Winchesters had called him their brother quite a few times but they'd only ever kept him around when they needed him and while he was glad that he could help them even a little, his heart was weighed down by the fact that they didn't care enough to ask him to stay otherwise. Even Nora had only wanted him when she needed him to look after her daughter and while he'd grown fond of Tanya and didn't feel anything akin to attraction towards Nora, he'd suddenly longed for someone to care for him because he was Castiel, not because they needed him. The image of a certain green eyed hunter had come to his mind and he had pushed it away. He knew he was no longer welcome at the Winchesters'. He had already messed things up and now that he was human and more useless than ever, he would be nothing but a burden on them.

Many a time, he had thought about just giving up. Letting go. The angels hated him. Probably Sam and Dean too. And it would be so much easier, now that he was human and much more fragile than before. No one would so much as bat an eyelash. It seemed so easy. Yet he'd kept going. He had always been a fighter; it was the only part of being an angel that he'd ever gotten right. So he had persisted, getting up every morning. Putting one foot in front of the other. Even though he felt numb and empty inside.

That had been five years ago and the memories of those months still hurt, bubbling up to the surface, burning the fresh wounds that Dean's words had sliced into his heart. He lay back on the grass, his head hitting the trench coat as he tried to empty his mind. He felt the cool breeze blowing around him, he heard the insects chirping, he felt every tremor that their high pitched little voices caused in the air, down to the last molecule. He turned his attention to the stars twinkling above. Stars that he'd help create. Stars whose glitter paled in comparison to how bright Dean's soul shone. He took a deep breath and sighed, resigning himself to the fact that no matter what he did, his thoughts would always find their way back to Dean.

...

Dean was standing just a few feet apart from him but the distance felt like miles. He was standing across from the man he loved enough to give up everything for, guilt gnawing at his very core while Dean stared at him with nothing but venom in his eyes. He'd gone and done it again. He'd ruined everything. He'd crossed all limits this time. Rowena was dead because of him and it there was no doubt left that both Sam and Dean loathed him. He didn't expect anything less; he loathed himself too. But standing there under scrutiny, as he looked into Dean's forest green eyes filled with hate, he realised that he couldn't lose Dean. Not again. So even though he knew nothing would come out of it, he decided to try and talk.

_Why didn't you just stick to the damn plan?_ Dean spat out.

He knew what was going to happen and yet he spoke. He was desperate.

_The plan changed, Dean. Something went wrong, you know this. Something always goes wrong!_

_Yeah, why does that something always seem to be you?_

He had known what was coming but he still wasn't prepared for the pain that completely shattered him, that felt like he was being stabbed by a thousand blades all at once. He just gaped at Dean, unable to keep his expression indifferent anymore. Everything hit him all at once; the misery, the anger, the carefully guarded sentiments he harboured threatening to break open the dam he'd built and flood him. In one moment of clarity, he knew: he had to get out of there.

He barely registered what he said next. He'd spoken whatever had been at the tip of his tongue. Something about trust, Chuck and Jack. Something Dean had said to him not so long ago.  
_You're dead to me._

As he walked up the stairs of the bunker, a small, irrational part of him still hoped that Dean would call out to him, ask him to stay but he kept walking. The door had never felt heavier as he pulled it open and walked out into the sunlight. It was a beautiful day, so contrasting to the tempests raging in his own heart that it was almost as if the rest of the universe was deriving some sort of savage pleasure from spiting him. His legs felt weak, as though he might collapse and he stayed there for a few moments, the irrational hope that Dean would come for him still refusing to let go. Seconds ticked by but there wasn't a single sound to be heard. No shuffling of footsteps, no muffled calls of "Cas" in Dean's deep voice could be heard through that door. Realisation felt like a bucket of ice cold water being dumped on his head as he let the reality sink in. Dean was letting him go.  
He took in a breath and nodded to himself. Slowly, he began walking away from the bunker. One foot in front of the other. Oddly enough, it felt just like the last time he'd left.

He never looked back.


End file.
